Re:Creation
by Koakuma Tsuri
Summary: Sephiroth watches Genesis get ready for work. Sephiroth/Genesis. Yaoi. Slightly implied smut.


Good Evening!  
Something that _isn't _smut? I know, it sounds ridiculous. Anywayz, please enjoy and review. Reviews are love 83

Beta'd by GeeString.

As always, no money is being made from this piece of fiction, meaning I still have to go to work. Boo.

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**Re:Creation**

He slides from bed whilst Sephiroth is still trapped in the darkness of slumber. He feels the lips that press delicately against the back of his neck and hears a murmur that means nothing to him. He senses Genesis moving away from him but his mind is severed from his body and he cannot turn over.

Footsteps pad gently across the carpet, leading away from the bed though Sephiroth cannot quite give them a direction. He only knows what time it is because getting up like this was Genesis' routine. There was exactly an hour and a half before the cafeteria opened for breakfast; two hours and a half before they had to be at Lazard's desk for morning briefing.

Soon he hears water like it's raining hard against the window, how it had rained that autumn in Banora. But it rarely rains in Midgar: reason says it's just Genesis in the shower, washing away the lingerings of the night freshly passed. Sometimes he sings, and it is a truly wonderful thing that Sephiroth likes to come around to. A harmony in that defined voice sounds suspiciously like a verse from a rendition of LOVELESS is concrete evidence that Genesis is happy, and that was something the General was fond of.

Slowly, Sephiroth cracks his eyes open and finds the room still dark. A white glow comes from the bathroom door that's left ajar, steam rolling out like fragrant smoke. Apples and spice that was not overtly masculine, but he could never imagine Genesis smelling of anything else. In Midgar, fruits were exotic; it suited the redhead perfectly. The scent never faded from him, even when covered in sweat and blood, there was always that delicious undertone that made sure that whenever the urge possessed his lover, Sephiroth would be ready.

Though the urge possesses him to join Genesis in the shower, eager to feel that lean body firm against his, against the cold tiles, by the time he reaches the en suite, the water ceases and the door is pulled back. Immediately noticing him in the doorway, Genesis smiles. "Good morning."

He's naked and dripping water to the black bath mat, making his skin glisten. There's no effort to cover himself up, not when Sephiroth is in an equally as bare state. He only reaches for a towel when he starts to feel the chill, and in the early morning, Sephiroth finds himself a little disappointed to lose the sight of all that pale flesh. He had signed it only a few hours ago, but red marks and bruises had been healed from the Mako in Genesis' system.

Sephiroth reaches forwards to touch his lover; fingertips brushing the curve of his shoulder and leaning closer to kiss his clean neck. "Morning," he whispers. He presses his lips lightly along the pulse he finds underneath Genesis' jaw. Only when he hears the clatter of things moving on the worktop.

He raises green eyes to find the redhead's slender-fingered hands organising the tools he will need in this next stage of his routine to make him beautiful. Although, as Sephiroth raises his hand to cup Genesis' jaw and tilt his head to the side, he can't see why anything needs to be done at all. Though plain in comparison to the finished product, Genesis' blue eyes were all the gems he needed. No black powder was needed when he had such lush eyelashes; his lips a perfect shape that needed no subtle colour, and a synthetic taste to them not as enticing as his natural one.

In his hand, he can feel the roughness to Genesis' face that he could not remember last night. Pale skin is peppered with red, prickly against his palm. The rest of him is near hairless, out of vanity as much as disliking to the feel of it. There was only a faint copper line leading from his navel, down to the towel that was slung around his hips. It offered the tiniest peak to softly curling hairs before being interrupted by the black towel.

Genesis smirks and he shakes his head free of Sephiroth's grip and it's enough to wake the General from his admiring reverie. He's still a little sleepy and things feel like a dream, where his emotions were the only ones that matter.

Breaking away, Sephiroth walks to the shower, and slips in soundlessly, twisting it in before turning to his show. Through the slightly-misted glass he watches as Genesis reaches for a tall canister of shaving cream and squirts an appropriate amount onto his palm and smearing his lower face with it. Though it is a menial thing that even Sephiroth will have to do himself in a little while, watching Genesis do it just seems a little… curious.

He had heard many whispers in the barracks whether or not the scarlet commander was capable of growing hair: he was never seen in any state less than flawless, even after a ruthless skirmish on the battlefield. Always clean shaven and he never offered anyone who was not _someone_ a glimpse of his body apart from that decorated face.

To see Genesis so human – so tangibly masculine – warmed the General in a way he didn't quite understand. His lover trusted him, _loved_ him, enough to let him see him in his crude form, so unlike the god-like creature that was shown to the world. In here, in this room for only an hour a day, they were two ordinary men, enjoying an ordinary relationship; anticipating and dreading the day's work before them that would pit them against one another.

Even the way Genesis shaves is graceful. He handles the razor with the skill with which he handles his sword. Only it's not a love of the blade that keeps him for frivolousness, rather a deep adoration of his own face, which carelessness would easily harm. When he finishes, he rinses off any cream that remained. That jaw tilts to various angles as Genesis inspects his work. Not one hair could be left: that would be a crack in the porcelain mask and that was unforgivable.

He reaches, contented, for a towel and briskly dries his hair with it, and then his face. Then, its work done, it is discarded once again to the worktop. The black granite itself is sparkling, and a line of different products. Pots and bottles, like the ingredients that the hags of Genesis' fairytales used to concoct their potions, they are the tools he uses to perfect himself.

Something is squirted onto his palm. From a clear liquid in the bottle, it foams and is immediately threaded through damp hair. The shade is more of ancient rust than copper; of charcoal rather than the fire. The very tips are tended, evenly coated and contented. Genesis switches on the hairdryer.

And watching Gen work with his hair is like watching a true artist painting. His hands do not instruct, but dance. Fingers guide and flick certain areas into places, practiced and precise. It's an artform in itself. Concentration is written deep in azure eyes. How Genesis can do the same thing each morning, to achieve the style and effect he had developed over years so consistently, Sephiroth could not understand. He washed his hair every day – a fact well known to the whole of ShinRa, and maybe even Midgar. To what extent, however, they probably did not.

Every morning, he showered after Genesis, but never quite watching him like he was now; every evening he showers to wash away the blood and sweat from missions, knowing that his redheaded lover was repulsed by the thought of what he considered 'third party fluids'. They never seemed to worry him when they were on the battlefield; taking a break from the killing long enough to rut in the mud like wild animals.

Those wicked blue eyes meet his through reflection and the shower pane; Genesis smirks, as if he knew what his lover was thinking. The general does not attempt to cover his curiousness and neither does he smile. Genesis doesn't need the encouragement. The gaze is broken as the commander turns his attention back to the worktop. The foundations for his aesthetic had been laid. His hair, that beautiful cinnamon blaze, bouncing as he moves and shining in the light that runs the length of the mirror on the wall; his skin a flawless canvas, aching to be swept with colour. But Genesis isn't the type for anything that isn't of a reddish hue, and dusts his lashline with charcoal. It immediately exaggerates the blue of his eyes, and the copper of his eyelashes. But not for long. In a sweep of an inky wand, those delicate hairs become cinders, and visibly longer.

Just like the immediate aftermath of a battle, Genesis surveys his victory, admiring his face and the perfection he himself had created using the striking template of fine bones he was born with. A smirk blossoms across his lips which will remain nude until they have finished breakfast.

Sephiroth continues staring, awestruck of a change so obvious he can hardly notice it. He feels as if he had just glimpsed through a hole in the fence to a hidden world. He wants to leave this shower where he had only been soaking, and touch his lover; smudge the eyeshadow he wore with kisses and mess his neatly coiffed hair with his fingers, he'd done it before… but now it just felt like a crime. Like buying a priceless masterpiece sculpture just to use it to prop the bathroom door open, it was sacrilege to render a pernickety daily ceremony useless in under five minutes.

Contented, Genesis turns back to him, expression still tangibly smug and raises an elegant eyebrow in a way that makes his next action irrelevant. As the redhead's hand pulls at the weak fastening of the towel, it becomes obvious to Sephiroth that his lover _wants_ to feel the appreciation that had been leaking from his green eyes all this time, and not just see it. Contact is the only thing that satisfies Genesis.

They have three quarters of an hour until breakfast… but it wouldn't matter if they were just a little bit late getting to morning briefing.


End file.
